Cherokee Legend; The Ice Man
I woke up to our first frost this morning, hugging the mountain and spreading that slow, quiet whisper across the sky & indicating the coming winter. Things like this make me think of old native legends regarding the weather. Since I live very close to Cherokee, I'll tell the story of the Ice Man. The Ice Man is a Cherokee tale. I'm going to tell it my way, which is much like playing a cover of another song if you're a musician, but storytelling in lieu of music. First, you need to know a little trivia. It was once a common practice among Native tribes to burn forests in the fall of the year. They did this for several reasons. They could get rid of underbrush and facilitate travel, which was important in the east coast mountain ranges, for the woods here are thicker and rootier than in the west. They did it to herd wildlife during hunts, and they did it to enhance berry plant production. Blackberry bushes, for example, grow back very well after forest fires. You have to remember this was far before we all stripped land for mass agricultural production. Imagine territory very hostile and almost impossible to get through with groups of people varying in ages and physical condition, and wildlife so thick and dangerous we were the ones at serious risk of losing our lives and our children on a daily basis. This was a time that was completely different, and required different techniques to stay alive. It's easy to sit back in our recliners and heated homes, with our manicured yards and coil over herding animals for hunting when we have better options in 2019. I've lived in the wild now for two years, and I can honestly understand how that untamed land and predatory wildlife would have been pretty savage to work around. It's very hard to imagine if one has never been exposed to these severe conditions on a daily basis. Our first instinct is to judge from comfortable positions and forgotten history. Anyway, let's get on with it. The tale of the Ice Man.
The Ice Man
Black, sinewy smoke rose from the ground in ghoulish silhouettes, threatening to claim the breath and lives of all those who witnessed their dance. The fire burned too strong this time; opening a hellish cavity in the earth. The people became afraid, as their forest fire was out of control. Embers glowed under the burning skins of wood, raising a new breed of life; red and destructive, spreading and torrid along the ground. The tribe concerned, began restlessly trying to come up with a plan to put out the fire.
"There is a man who lives in an ice house in the north", yelled a boy cloaked by the billowing smoke. The others listened carefully between shooting sparks while trying to catch his face in the haze. The boy went on to tell a story of magic, in which this man from the north could put out fires and bring cold rain down upon the land. With no other options, messengers lit out on their horses like lightning to find this magic man.
They came upon a very small fellow with his hair braided into two plaits that hung all the way to the ground. Their dilemma was explained, and the man replied, "Oh yes. I can help you." He then began to take his hair down from the plaits as they watched. As each strand was loosened, the air began to chill around him. He soon stood with all his hair sweeping the ground, which seemed to craft an eerie kind of cold about the room.
The man then took his hair and slapped it on his hand. His eyes grew white and a light rain began to fall. He then took the other side of his hair and slapped it on his hand again. Sleet mixed with the raindrops, and the skies grew dark. He struck his hair across his hand one more time, and cold hail blasted through the room and the air as though it had come right out of his hair! "Go back now," said the tiny man. "I shall be there tomorrow." The messengers returned to their people, who were worriedly bustling around the great, burning pit.
The next morning there came the coldest, deadening wind from the north. The icy feeling caused sharp, biting pain on their skin and brought a sudden quiet across the land. Fear stirred in their hearts, and they ran back to their homes for shelter. A storm rose with a strong whirlwind that forced its way into every crack and crevice where fire burned the earth. Hailstones and rain beat down the heat and embers until even the smoke died away. This took two days. At the end of the frosty storm, the land was quiet and gray. The great pit seemed to sleep as a gentle snow fell and erased the damage. It watered the earth and put her to bed for the winter, until spring could wake her back up to life. Old man winter had been called, and would return each year from then until today, when we wake up to see the frost covering our ground with shimmering crystal dew.
The Ice Man
Black, sinewy smoke rose from the ground in ghoulish silhouettes, threatening to claim the breath and lives of all those who witnessed their dance. The fire burned too strong this time; opening a hellish cavity in the earth. The people became afraid, as their forest fire was out of control. Embers glowed under the burning skins of wood, raising a new breed of life; red and destructive, spreading and torrid along the ground. The tribe concerned, began restlessly trying to come up with a plan to put out the fire.
"There is a man who lives in an ice house in the north", yelled a boy cloaked by the billowing smoke. The others listened carefully between shooting sparks while trying to catch his face in the haze. The boy went on to tell a story of magic, in which this man from the north could put out fires and bring cold rain down upon the land. With no other options, messengers lit out on their horses like lightning to find this magic man.
They came upon a very small fellow with his hair braided into two plaits that hung all the way to the ground. Their dilemma was explained, and the man replied, "Oh yes. I can help you." He then began to take his hair down from the plaits as they watched. As each strand was loosened, the air began to chill around him. He soon stood with all his hair sweeping the ground, which seemed to craft an eerie kind of cold about the room.
The man then took his hair and slapped it on his hand. His eyes grew white and a light rain began to fall. He then took the other side of his hair and slapped it on his hand again. Sleet mixed with the raindrops, and the skies grew dark. He struck his hair across his hand one more time, and cold hail blasted through the room and the air as though it had come right out of his hair! "Go back now," said the tiny man. "I shall be there tomorrow." The messengers returned to their people, who were worriedly bustling around the great, burning pit.
The next morning there came the coldest, deadening wind from the north. The icy feeling caused sharp, biting pain on their skin and brought a sudden quiet across the land. Fear stirred in their hearts, and they ran back to their homes for shelter. A storm rose with a strong whirlwind that forced its way into every crack and crevice where fire burned the earth. Hailstones and rain beat down the heat and embers until even the smoke died away. This took two days. At the end of the frosty storm, the land was quiet and gray. The great pit seemed to sleep as a gentle snow fell and erased the damage. It watered the earth and put her to bed for the winter, until spring could wake her back up to life. Old man winter had been called, and would return each year from then until today, when we wake up to see the frost covering our ground with shimmering crystal dew.
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